Rapidfire
by Lena7142
Summary: Rick is full of surprises.


**Title:** Rapidfire

**Author:** Lena7142

**Characters:** Rick, team

**Genre**: Action/Teamfic

**Rating**: T for violence

**Warnings**: Minor OC death, tw: guns.

**A/N: **Thanks to Faye for the beta!

**Summary**: Rick is full of surprises.

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-o-

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Their asset is dead, the Chilean mob is firing at them, and they're totally pinned down. In sum: everything has gone to hell, and Rick really wishes he had a gun.

They don't typically go into the field armed; a weapon draws attention. The telltale bulge of a holster under a jacket prompts suspicion, and it's a hell of a lot harder to convince someone you're just an innocent civilian when you're packing heat. Now and then, of course, if their covers demand it, they'll go in with a piece or two. But less often than not. It's part of why Casey's so invaluable, with his hand-to-hand skills and ability to improvise a weapon out of anything.

It's also why this firefight is very one-sided.

Right now, they're unarmed, apart from Billy's pocketknife which they've already determined is not going to be much use. Casey's left arm is broken, and despite his grumblings that he's fine, he's breaking into a sweat and starting to tremble, and Rick can't tell if those are signs of shock or not. Billy is pale, blood leaking from a graze a little below his neck, and Michael has that look on his face he gets when he's going through all the options, and none of them are good.

Rick casts his gaze around for the umpteenth time, hoping that something will jump out as a possible option. A bullet buries itself in one of the shipping crates inches from his head, sending up a shower of splinters and prompting Rick to flinch. The way the bad guys are letting off rounds, he can at least hope they run out of ammo at some point. Though with his luck, they probably have backup mags. Lots and lots of backup mags.

And the ODS has jack squat.

There's a door to the far left, but it's a long dash, and at least half of it is totally exposed, with no crates or cars to hide behind. Their asset, Ruiz, already tried to run for it, and took a shot to the head less than four steps out from cover. His body is sprawled face-down on the cement now, a puddle of blood around his skull, arms up and his jacket riding halfway up his back from the way he twisted when he fell.

Rick's been making a point not to look at the corpse so he doesn't freak himself out, but now that he's glanced at it, he can't look away. Rick's seen more than a few dead bodies now, even had to kill a man or two in self-defense on the job, but it still always shocks him. Ruiz was alive and talking to them 20 minutes ago, and now, he's completely still; contorted and limp and...

And _armed_, Rick realizes. Because with the jacket out of the way, Rick can see the grip of a handgun tucked into Ruiz' waistband at the small of his back.

"Ruiz has a gun," he hisses.

"Fat lot of good it did him," Casey mumbles, his eyes a bit glassy.

Michael's eyes dart over to Rick. "You have a plan?"

Rick hesitates. "Um. Go and get it, then shoot the guys shooting at us before we all end up dead?"

Billy snorts. "I reckon that plan could use a bit o' refinement."

Michael shakes his head. "We don't even know if it's loaded. And it's only one gun, Martinez."

Rick's mouth sets in a thin line. "I only need one."

Michael seems hesitant, but he pauses before saying anything.

"It's better than sitting here like fish in a barrel," Rick points out, because their options right now are limited. Backup is supposedly en route, but he doesn't want to sit and wait to be shot if they don't arrive in time. Hell, he doesn't even want to sit and wait for Michael's orders, because he sees an opportunity _now._ "I'm going for it," he snaps, coiling his legs under him. "Cover me!"

He's diving and running behind the other crates before he hears Billy shout "_With what?"_ somewhere behind him. The gunfire, which had been sporadic a few moments ago, now picks up as the Chileans see their quarry moving. Rick ducks and dodges, keeping his head low as he weaves through objects of cover in a mad dash to Ruiz' body.

He stops to catch his breath behind the last piece of cover - a large packing crate with hay falling out the top where the lid's been pried off. The corpse is about five feet away, right in the open.

Rick will only have seconds.

"Martinez!" he hears one of his teammates hiss. But he hasn't got time for second thoughts.

Rick lunges.

Gunfire rips through the air.

He hits the ground in a roll and gropes madly for the gun, tearing it free from the back of Ruiz' pants and coming up in a crouch. There's a magazine already loaded in the grip, and he settles his finger on the trigger.

Rick inhales. Then he aims.

Ten bullets in the magazine.

Ten deafening reports, ringing in his ears long after silence has settled.

Ten bodies on the ground, two of them groaning and twitching, the rest of them starkly still.

Rick exhales. "Clear," he announces, then ejects the empty mag and lets it clatter on the ground.

Everything is still. Then, slowly, he sees the ODS stand up and move in his direction. Casey is leaning heavily on Billy, his brow furrowed in something that could be irritation or confusion or consternation; it's hard to tell with Casey, honestly. Billy's eyes are wide, awed and a bit alarmed. Michael just looks like someone slapped him. "What," he says, "the hell was that?"

"Clearing us an exit," Rick says, dropping the now useless gun. He's shaking a bit with adrenaline, and wonders if he should check to make sure he hasn't been shot. He'd know if he'd been shot, right?

"I think he was referring to the somewhat terrifying display of marksmanship just now," Billy points out. "I think Casey might have competition for his title after that-"

"Hey."

Rick shrugs, trying not to look at the bodies. There are enough of them that it's sort of hard. "I told you guys I worked at a shooting range when I was younger, right?"

"Got paid in ammunition, you said," Casey mutters, narrowing his eyes.

Rick shrugs. "I got pretty good."

"I'll say," Michael murmurs, looking at the carnage. "Martinez... remind us to stop screwing with you quite so much."

Rick snorts. "Like that'll happen."

Billy shrugs. "Probably not. But I'm definitely composing a sonnet about this."

Casey groans. "Can we just _leave?"_

Rick's legs feel like jelly as the adrenaline wears off, and he's a bit light-headed. But somehow, he manages to walk out of the warehouse. They all do. Because somehow, the ODS always walks out alive.

Even if the firefight is one-sided.

Even if they have jack squat.

Even (especially?) when it all goes to hell.


End file.
